I deleted my accounts on every website / service where I had one and I guess I’m going to sell my phone

Regardless of your height, weight, intelligence, financial situation, skin color, or whatever else, there are really only two groups on this planet: the Feeling and the Unfeeling.

The Unfeeling marginalize and alienate and kill the Feeling—and they do it all without a single ounce of empathy or remorse.

When I hear people talking about their hopes and dreams, I sit there and think, “Jesus Christ, I just wish I could afford to eat.”

The universe and, more specifically, Mother Earth herself have been trying to wipe us out since the day the first drooling ape-man stood upright and jerked off while the sun set in the blood-red sky.

Listen: if a sinkhole opened up, I would jump right in. If a tornado came ripping down the street, I would let it toss me into oblivion.

If a meteorite rocketed into our atmosphere, I would rush to meet it where it landed.

I’m going to Virginia next Monday. I haven’t been there in a year and a half. Thinking I would see some people while I’m in town, I sat down and thought of everyone I still know there and could come up with only two or three names. That’s kind of sad.

Though hey, maybe it being a solo thing is fine. In fact I’m sure it will be.

My friend Genevieve said she wanted to see me, and I told her to brace herself. “I’m fifty pounds overweight now,” I said, “and I have a face tattoo that says ‘PUDDING KING’.”

She will discover that I am kidding when I show up at her house, I guess!

If staying alive is some sort of victory, then I think maybe that is the only victory I have under my belt. I have been alive for twenty-six years, and during that time I have eaten just enough and have slept just enough to avoid collapsing and dying.

This is a dream I’ve had since I was five years old:

I am in my childhood home, but there are no windows or doors. The entire house is dark. I make my way through the blackness until I reach the living room, which is filled with glowing pink ghosts. They are moving the furniture. They pick it up, shuffle it around, and set it down again. This goes on endlessly. They don’t hurt me or say anything to me—they just silently pick up the couch and the chairs and the tables and put them in places where they do not belong.

For as long as I can remember I have been a reluctant participant of whatever this is. I’ve tried hundreds of times to get closer to the thing, or understand the thing, or even just be able to look the thing in the eye, but it never feels right. Why oh why couldn’t I have been a pine tree?

My friend Rachel asked me what I would do if I were rich and the only thing I could think of was “go to the dentist”.

McCune bought me a bicycle after my car was stolen. I had sold my previous bicycle the week before. Which is to say before I was given a new one, I had no way of getting anywhere without walking.

This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.

He brought it to me while I was working at Donut Farm. I stored it in the back and occasionally stepped out just to look at the damn thing. It’s a gorgeous piece of red metal. The frame consists of three triangles, which Laura tells me is rare / unusual.

After I got off, Laura and I biked over to Temescal to look at a house we want to live in. She took this picture. Somehow she managed to make me look sort of cool???